I’ve always had such a fire, a yearning, in my soul to roam and admire the diversely breathtaking landscapes of this world. When I was asked to follow missionaries on their journey to build homes in Honduras, I was extremely eager and painfully oblivious to how this trip would set that small fire completely aflame.
The locals welcomed us with a small church service in a structure built by our hosts . We traveled in a shaky yellow school bus across town and up a large mountain to a rewarding breeze and an unbelievable view. While building homes was our excuse to travel to Honduras, it was the encounters with the variety of families and their neighbors that truly made our trip worthwhile. We would often spend our evenings with the locals to make sure they had everything they needed to sustain themselves. Some of the wounds we encountered were out of our area of expertise, but our team's medically experienced individuals did their best to provide antibiotics and clean supplies to keep from infection. As the days progressed we built three homes, visited two orphanages and handed out hot lunch, while performing wound care, at a garbage dump.
The houses we built were no bigger than the size of a very small loft apartment. They were assembled in eight hours with softwood, steel nails, oddball hammers, tin roofs, and chainsaws to cut the windows and doors. Depending on the family dynamic, some families would help us build throughout the day . First, we dug 20 post holes for the frame. Then, we nailed 2X4s on the posts to make walls. After that, we would line posts in the center of the home to lay the floors. Next, came the tin roofs where we used nails to secure them to the frame . Finally, our foreman would use a chainsaw to cut the doors and windows. Despite the structure being simple and small, the families were extremely grateful to finally have a place they could call home.
The children we encountered at Casa De Esperanza, House of Hope, and The School for the Blind varied greatly in socioeconomic status. House of Hope is a full time orphanage located closer to the small town our hosts resided. Many of the children's parents are still alive, but don't have the financial resources to care for them. The School for the Blind is a partial orphanage located in the capital. Some students stay full time while others travel far from their homes. Many families cannot afford to send all of their children to school. In most cases one child is chosen to go to school and the rest, if they are old enough, work. While their was a difference in location and at times a small language barrier, all of the children spoke soccer, stickers, and candy. We didn’t do anything special except give them our time and attention.
Visiting the garbage dump was an aggressive experience. As soon as my feet hit the thickest mud I’ve ever encountered, people were begging for my boots. I could feel the crowd pulling on my camera bag, reaching into my pockets, and tugging at my clothes to get my attention. I quickly moved for the truck designated to wound care so that I could get a better perspective and calm the incredibly overwhelming instinct I had to run back to the bus. Once my nerves were slightly calm and the crowds became accustomed to our presence, I promised a young woman my boots and chatted with a few individuals who were waiting to get their wounds cleaned. Many have been there for generations; completely unaware of any other way to live.
Being in Honduras, I experienced wonderful beauty in such simplicity. Hondurans live life fully; understanding the value of being present. I was free from the tireless habit of ungratefulness in comparing my life to others. My mind seamlessly shifted from “I'm so nervous to travel to the murder capital of the world” to “I wish my arms could embrace more people.” My life is forever changed and I hope to travel back to see how everything has progressed.
